


I Just Need Enough of You to Dull the Pain

by Dystopia744



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drunk Bellamy, I just really felt the strong urge to write this, Implied past fling, In which Murphy stays instead of going to search for the City of Light, M/M, Post Season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 06:31:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3718639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dystopia744/pseuds/Dystopia744
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Murphy stays at camp, and Bellamy gets a little too drunk, and some things should have been left unsaid.</p><p>Or<br/>The one where neither of the two boys knows what the hell he should do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for your kudos and comments on my other work, it was super awesome to see that people actually liked it. 
> 
> I honestly didn't expect to be writing these two again so soon but ideas come and go as they please, so here we are. This is basically what I imagine would have happened if Murphy had realized that Jaha was insane before going on a journey with him and decided to stay at Camp instead. There's a lot of conflicted thoughts and emotions going on, so it might be a little messy.
> 
> Anyways, hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you think in the comments! 
> 
> Note: Once more, the title is from a song in American Beauty/American Psycho. This time it's Twin Skeletons (Hotel in NYC) by Fall Out Boy. (That album is seriously Murphamy, just listen to it and think of them.)

Noise.   
  
It had been a couple of nights since the forty seven had returned from Mount Weather, and tonight they had finally all gathered around the fire and decided to drink in celebration of the fact that they were still alive. Atleast that's what they told themselves as they rallied around the flickering flames and downed cup after cup of Moonshine, trying to be as loud as they can possibly be to drown out the vivid memories of the horrors they had all endured inside the mountain.  
   
And Murphy seriously didn't want to be a part of that.  
   
Sure, it was a relief that they were back, that they didn't die. But that didn't mean that Murphy wanted to be sitting out there with them.  
   
And if he was being honest with himself, it didn't mean that they wanted him there either. He knew that he was definitely no one's favorite, and that they only tolerate his presence at best. He wasn't even allowed to go on the rescue mission when they all gathered and went up to the mountain, because he wasn't perceived as 'stable enough.' Well, atleast he knew he wouldn't have betrayed them like the grounders did. He didn't take any pleasure in the fact that that happened; it was just a bittersweet irony.  
   
Not that anyone gave a fuck about what his opinion was. And they certainly didn't give a fuck that he was still there; they didn't care about him one way or the other.  
   
Whatever. He hated loud crowds anyways.  
   
As he sat on the ground in one of the furthest corners of camp, concealed from the rest of the people by one of the extension walls of Alpha Station, he found himself contemplating Jaha's words in his head for what must have been the hundredth time that day.  
   
It was stupid that he was even considering the words of the man who was the reason why everything in his life went to shit, but knowing that didn't stop him. Jaha had gone batshit crazy, that much was evident to him when he heard the ex-chancellor spewing crap about the city of light and the 'promised land' and everything else he had said back at the Dropship. Hell, he was probably dead and gone by now, impaled by a grounder trap or starved to death or something.  
   
Then again, maybe he was still alive. Maybe he had found the haven that he had been babbling about and is enjoying himself right now away from all of this. And Murphy could have been there too, but he missed out on the opportunity by turning down Jaha's offer and returning to camp.  
   
No, he shook his head and dug yet another meaningless line in the soil between his legs with his knife – the one that they would probably try to take him from him if they knew he still had it.  
   
He was being ridiculous, there was no such thing as the city of light. There were no promised lands in this forsaken world.   
   
There was nothing good about the ground.  
   
"Murphy?"  
   
Murphy startled at the sound of his own name, neck snapping up immediately to see the source - even though he knew on some subconscious level very well who that tone of voice belonged to.  
   
Sure enough, his gaze landed on the dark brown curls that seemed to grow taller and more haphazard with each passing day, and those damn brown eyes that were just a shade darker than the coffee beans Murphy used to trade his stolen rations for in hopes of making something that will wake up his mother.  
   
How long had it been since he had talked to Bellamy Blake? Probably not since he had turned his back on Jaha and came back to camp. Murphy remembered how he felt when Bellamy returned from the mountain, and that for a split second he wanted to just walk up to him, say something, maybe pat him on the shoulder, anything really, just tell him that he was glad that he was back. Then he remembered that there was no reason for him to be glad that Bellamy was back, and that Bellamy wouldn't appreciate Murphy talking to him at any rate. So he had turned in his tracks and walked away.  
   
Ever since that moment, whenever they would see eachother, Bellamy would always turn around and take a different route so he would avoid passing by next to Murphy. And whenever they would lock gazes, Bellamy would always look away as if looking at Murphy was like touching a kettle of boiling water.  
   
But Murphy hadn't dwelled on it. Or he had tried not to. And failed miserably, though he wouldn't admit that to himself. The truth was, Bellamy was a recurrent presence in his dreams (Well, _nightmares_ really) every single night. It was always a tie between three scenes that played out in his mind over and over again – the first time Bellamy kissed him, the time Bellamy kicked the ground from underneath him, and the time he tried to yank Bellamy's hands away from the seatbelts so that Bellamy would choke like he did.  
   
He would wake up with a scream on the tip of his tongue every time.  
   
"What?" He asked, wanting to keep his voice as leveled as possible, even though he sounded just a tad choked - a result of not having used it for a good while.  
   
Thankfully, Bellamy didn't seem to notice that as he took a couple of steps closer over to Murphy, his foot skidding a little over the mild incline in the land. There was a sway in his movements, a lack of coordination that Murphy never associated with the older boy before.  
   
Bellamy was drunk. Great.   
   
"What are you doing here?" Bellamy's words were a little drawn-out, and he was probably two more sips of moonshine away from slurring his speech.  
   
"Sitting, obviously," Murphy's hold tightened around the knife involuntarily, fingers closing around the bent piece of metal he used as a hilt, his index finger faintly grazing the bottom of the sharpened edge. He didn't wince at the sting.   
   
"Why aren't you drinking out there with everyone else--Hey," Bellamy's vision picked up on the twitch of Murphy's fingers, observant even when wasted, his gaze moving between Murphy's hand and his eyes. "Put that away."  
   
"I'd rather not do that. And that applies to both your questions," his tone was forcefully clipped; he just wanted Bellamy to take the hint and get back to his friends. Murphy knew Bellamy would rather be with them than him, and he really wasn't in the proper head-state to deal with Bellamy. Not now.  
   
He didn't know why he was feeling anxious, Bellamy probably stumbled to this part of the camp by mistake, and it probably has nothing to do with him.   
   
He also didn't know whether he should be comforted or disappointed by that thought.   
   
"Murphy, there are no grounders here, it's just our people. You don't need that," Bellamy frowned, a look of genuine confusion in his eyes that tugged on an invisible string in Murphy's chest, causing him to look away from Bellamy and down at the ground.  
   
It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that those eyes can still make him feel _anything_ at all. It wasn't fair that he _knew_ that if he stared into Bellamy's eyes long enough, he might just be willing to forget about everything that Bellamy had done to him.  
   
It wasn't fucking _fair._  
   
Murphy made to stand up on his feet, and he placed both hands in his pockets, the right one still closed around the knife. "Your people, Bellamy."  
   
"You're one of my people," Bellamy added, so hastily and without any hints of hesitation that Murphy had to look up at him again, just to see if he was smiling or laughing - because that must have been some sort of twisted drunken joke.  
   
Except Bellamy wasn't doing either. In fact, Bellamy was stepping towards him, his eyebrows creasing together in concentration as he stared ahead at Murphy.  
   
"You're hurt, there's blood on your face," Bellamy finally added when he was close enough for Murphy to be able to smell the pungent aroma of alcohol on his breath. That moonshine had a scent stronger than anything Murphy's ever smelled before.  
   
_If one excludes blood and rotting flesh_ , he thought.  
   
"What are you talking about?" Murphy asked in what he hoped would be clear annoyance, but only came out half as loud as he had intended.  
   
"There's a cut right here," Bellamy elaborated, reaching out and brushing his thumb over Murphy's left cheek, a feather-light touch that left Murphy reeling, unable to respond with anything beyond an astonished stare.  
   
He couldn't remember the last time Bellamy touched him like this.  
   
That's a lie, the last time Bellamy touched him like this was one of the most vivid moments in his entire existence. And it was the night directly before Murphy's knife was found near the lifeless body of Jaha's kid.  
   
"What are you doing?" Murphy asked.   
   
"You're bleeding."   
   
"So? I must've hit a branch or something, what's it to you?" Once more, Murphy's words failed him, lacking the necessary amount of disdain due to the fact that his voice was merely a whisper. He was well aware of Bellamy's hand cupping his cheek.   
   
Bellamy didn't reply to that, instead he stared ahead at Murphy with wide brown eyes that lingered a little lower than Murphy would have liked and he knew that look -- He knew that look like he knew the back of his hand and he had been convinced that he would never get to see it again but here it was and--  
   
And then Bellamy's lips were on his.  
   
Murphy has no idea what happened exactly in that short pause, only that now Bellamy's hand was slipping into his hair and he was kissing him, actually kissing him. Murphy could feel the small prick of broken skin on Bellamy's lips and he could taste the bitterness of the moonshine as Bellamy briefly caught his lower lip between his teeth to nip at it, urging and impatient.   
   
And Murphy didn't have time to think before he reciprocated, his own lips pressing into the kiss, his hands dropping from his pockets - sans the knife.   
   
Bellamy placed his other hand on Murphy's hip and tugged him closer till their chests were flush against eachother, and Murphy placed his hand on Bellamy's shoulder, fingers curling into the tattered material of his black t-shirt.   
   
A small sound escaped Murphy's lips despite himself, a gasp-like moan that had Bellamy tighten his grip over his hip. The latter's fingers then slid underneath the hem of his t-shirt, and the sensation of cold fingertips slithering up his side was something of a shock to Murphy, not unlike the shock of one's head being plunged into a bucket of ice water.  
   
Murphy broke the kiss then, leaning back from Bellamy and using his grip on his shoulder to shove him away, taking a step backwards in the process.  
   
"You're drunk," He breathed out, his own eyes were wild, his heart hammering against his chest as he inhaled and exhaled in fast, unsteady breaths.  
   
"So?" Bellamy was staring at him like Murphy had just said something preposterous, a completely unguarded frown across his lips that made Murphy want to punch him in the jaw.  
   
"So you have no idea what the hell you're doing, you just _kissed_ me!" His voice rose a little higher and Bellamy lifted his hand up, pressing a finger to his own lips.  
   
"Shush, not so loud," he stage-whispered at him, taking a look around then meeting Murphy's gaze again. "I do know what I'm doing, I know I kissed you. What's the problem?"  
   
"What's the problem-- _You_ kissed _me_ , _that's_ the problem."  
   
 "It didn't seem so problematic when you kissed me back."  
   
Murphy scowled, his fingers now closing into a fist by his side. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_ , he thought to himself. Why the hell did he kiss back? Why the hell is his goddamn heartbeat ringing in his ears?  
   
"Why'd you kiss me?" Murphy inquired, tone pressing.  
   
Bellamy brushed both hands through the royally tangled mess that is his own hair in frustration, shaking his head. "I don't know, Murphy, I saw you here and I felt like it." He paused, closing his eyes for a brief moment, "I just wanted something to take my mind off of--"  
   
"Clarke?" Murphy cut him off, the princess's name tasted unusually rancid on the tip of Murphy's tongue, spat out in the manner one would spit out snake venom after sucking it out of a wound.  
   
Bellamy looked at him then, his eyes now set, the confused look replaced by an irritated one. "That's not what I was gonna say, it's not about Clarke."  
   
" _Everything_ you do is about Clarke!" Murphy almost yelled at him, and he was taken aback by his own sudden anger, feeling waves upon waves of it coursing throughout his body. Only Bellamy could get such a rise out of him.  
   
"That's--" Bellamy hesitated, "That's not true." His voice was lowered.  
   
"Yes it is, you went into that mountain because she told you to, you strung me up because she told you _to_."   
   
"I went into that mountain to save our people--Murphy," he met Murphy's gaze, the look in his eyes piercing and serious despite him being drunk, "You got more than your revenge for that, remember?"  
   
"So now you just wanna make out like it never happened? Like we could go back to the way it was before?"  
   
"I never said anything about going back to the way it was before, I wasn't thinking that far."  
   
"Ofcourse you weren't. Just like you weren't thinking that far the day you let me hang. What was it that you told me after? I shouldn't have _let_ them? Like you saying that would have fixed everything?"  
   
Murphy didn't know why he had gotten so riled up, and why he was bringing all this back. But he did know that Bellamy wasn't entitled to do this, to just— just walk up to him and decide he wants to kiss him without even sparing a moment to talk.  
   
_As if all the pain he had gone through was some dust that could be brushed under the rug._  
   
"Are you forgetting that you tied a noose around my neck too?" Bellamy replied with both eyebrows raised.  
   
 "You did it to me first, I _trusted_ you and you strung me up just to save face, you strung me up like I was _nothing_ to you!" Murphy kept his hands clenched into fists, but this time only to keep them from shaking.  
   
Bellamy pinched the bridge of his nose, "I told you I made a choice that I thought had to be done, and I tried to apologize, and I paid for it, we're even. What more do you want from me?"  
   
Seriously? That's all he has to say. Murphy basically just spilled out what he felt about him, and all he has to say was what more do you want from me? Is Bellamy even _listening_ to him? 

"I don't want anything from you! You're the one who came to me!" Murphy was full-on yelling now. 

"Well, that was obviously my real mistake!" Bellamy snapped.

Murphy blinked, then clenched his jaw, to the point where he felt it could snap if he pressed down on his teeth any harder. He moved past Bellamy, heading away from him.  
   
"Murphy, wait, okay, I didn't mean--" Bellamy's tone unexpectedly softened, he reached out to stop him, wrapping his hand around Murphy's arm, but Murphy yanked his arm back out of his grip with enough force to cause Bellamy to stagger backwards.  
   
"Yeah, you did, but get this," Murphy turned around to face him, "I am not a backboard for you to bounce your goddamn feelings off, Bellamy. You can't just kick me or kiss me whenever you please. It's not whatever the hell you want anymore." He spoke through gritted teeth, snarling, then whipping around again to walk away.    
   
"Murphy, just listen--"  
   
"No, I'm done listening to you. And I'm done with this place, for good. Leave me the fuck alone." He didn't turn back to look at him this time, treading up the incline and heading towards the entrance of the fallen Alpha station.  
 

He didn't see Bellamy's lips pressed together, or his gaze following Murphy until he disappeared out of sight.   
   
And he didn't see Bellamy kicking aggressively at the soil or hear him cursing viciously under his breath either.


	2. Don't Fight Me Now; You Might Need Me Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the sun always shines light on what happens at night, and some things are cleared up. 
> 
> Well, sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the second part of this work, and again it's posted earlier than expected because I'm addicted to these two for some reason now. Thanks for the comments and the kudos, you're all super awesome. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you think in the comments! 
> 
> Note: This chapter is heavily inspired by the song Bloodsport by Raleigh Ritchie. Heavily.

It was morning again, the sun having been up for a few hours now, and Murphy was standing in the small chamber they had given him to use as temporary quarters. He had figured that the only reason they let him have a room inside the Ark's remains was that his frequent yells during the night used to startle people awake when he slept outside in one of the tents with the other delinquents, so Chancellor Griffin thought it fit he be isolated in order for everyone else to have a better sleep. At least, that's the only explanation that he could think of.   
  
Then again, it didn't matter now, did it? They  _all_ woke up screaming at some point of the night ever since their return from Mount Weather. Maybe Griffin was planning to reassign him back to the outside, give the room to someone who deserves it. Either way, it didn't matter. Because he wasn't going to stay.   
  
Murphy was awake all night after his argument with Bellamy, and the more he thought about it, the more furious he felt. The more he thought about it, the stronger his resolve about setting out after Jaha became. It was clear that he had nothing here, and that it was a senseless act for him to stick around. Sure, he could end up finding nothing and dying out there, but it  _sure as hell_ beat having nothing and dying in here.   
  
Because he had had hope.   
  
Maybe he wasn't entirely aware of it at first, but last night made it glaringly obvious – he had hope in regards to him and Bellamy sorting things out. That was one sick joke, now wasn't it? Bellamy never gave a shit, and Murphy shouldn't even want to sort things out after what Bellamy has done to him. It was useless to even consider, and he berated himself for it.   
  
He remembered a quote from one of his favorite books that he used to read back on the Ark: ' _It's always that small bit of hope that fucks you up. It's what kills you.'_   
  
Their ancestors may have all been self-absorbed dumbasses, but that didn't mean they weren't right some of the time.   
  
There was a blanket laid out on the small counter in front of him, and he had set down what little belongings he'd had to his name onto it, intending to use the blanket as a bag. He then crouched down on the ground and dug around for the small gun he had nicked earlier that day from the guards' room and hidden under his bed. He was still quick with his hands; at the very least he had that going for him. And he made sure to grab a firearm that was small enough to fit into the blankets without anyone noticing.   
  
Not that they would, everyone is so preoccupied with whatever the hell they're preoccupied with, and no one's going to spare him a second glance when he walks out.   
  
Just as he placed the gun on top of his stuff and finished tying the corners of the blanket together in a thick knot, he heard a knock on the door. He shot up straight, standing entirely still, convinced for a moment that someone had seen him and that they're coming to arrest him now. His hand went to the knife in his pocket again, comforted by its presence, and he was already half-way determined not to go down without a fight.   
  
"Murphy, open up."   
  
His alert gaze turned into a narrowed one, and he scowled at the door, releasing his grip on the knife.   
  
"Go away, Bellamy."   
  
A pause. "I'm not gonna go away till you open up."     
  
Murphy did nothing. He could just wait it out in here, he knew that Bellamy wasn't going to stay behind that door forever. Then again, he didn't really feel like waiting around, and the sooner he would open the door, the sooner he could tell Bellamy to fuck off so he could leave this shithole.   
  
With that in mind, he opened the door.   
  
"What do you want?"   
  
Bellamy let out a sigh of relief when he saw Murphy. He looked different than he did last night, his hair was more tame, there were striking black shadows under his eyes – which had a strangely warm look about them. He was wearing a gray long sleeved shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Overall, he looked cleaner than he did the night before, more put together.   
  
"You're still here," he said, nodding over at Murphy.   
  
Murphy let go of the door's frame and stepped back into the room, "I was just heading out," he bit back with a little more force than what would be considered necessary, going to pick up his discarded bag.   
  
"You're going to find Jaha, aren't you?" Bellamy's tone remained unchanged.    
  
Murphy stopped, "And how do you know that?"   
  
"I know you were at the Dropship when he left. And I've seen you eyeing the fence ever since we got back. You walked up to the gate like five times in the last two days, always stopping when you get there and going back inside."   
  
Murphy gave him a stunned look. Bellamy was watching him? That didn't make the least amount of sense to him, but it _did_ make the hairs on the back of his neck rise up regardless.   
  
"Yeah, maybe I am," Murphy finally responded, clearing his throat and looking down at his bag. He leaned his hands against the counter on either side of it. "Maybe I just wanna get the hell out of here. It's none of your business."    
  
Bellamy walked into the room and closed the door behind him, looking at Murphy again. "I'm sorry." Neither his voice nor the way his eyebrows came together lacked sincerity, and Murphy felt as though there was suddenly something stuck in his throat.   
  
"Your apologies are always a little too late, Bellamy. And they mean nothing to me."   
  
"I drank more than I should have last night. And when I woke up, I remembered what happened and I want you to know I didn't mean what I said. I was upset-"   
  
"And you were looking for a distraction. Yeah, I know. Spare me the details, I just told you I don’t care that you're sorry."   
  
"I wasn't looking for a distraction, I was looking for you."   
  
Murphy's gaze fixated upon Bellamy's for a stretched period of time, pure disbelief practically radiating from his eyes. "No, you weren't."   
  
Bellamy wrinkled his nose, "Just stop. Listen to me for a second. I  _was_ looking for you. I wanted to find you. I've been wanting to talk to you. And last night, there was— My mind was all over the place. I acted without thinking and I'm sorry, I was wrong. I swear I didn't mean anything that I said."   
  
Murphy swallowed back against the lump in his throat, "I know you were." He removed his hands from the counter, "You're wrong a lot, Bellamy. It's just that no one seems to see it. You're not fucking perfect."   
  
"I know."   
  
Bellamy was looking down at his feet, and Murphy didn't know how he was supposed to respond to that. He had this...This look. He looked like one of those puppies they had seen in movies on the Ark, or the way Murphy imagined one of them would look if a human stepped on its tail.   
  
"I'm not perfect," Bellamy broke the momentary silence, looking up at Murphy again. There was something in his eyes that Murphy didn't know how to place, something that eerily resembled the shine of tears about to spill and Murphy inwardly prayed to  _anything_ listening up there that this was just a trick of light.   
  
"Bellamy—"   
  
"You know, I killed a guard in that mountain," Bellamy went on, interrupting Murphy. He was chewing at the corner of his lower lip, "And then. And then I looked his kid right in the eye and talked about him like  _everything_ was fine. And then you know what I did? I killed the kid. An innocent kid that was still in school, probably not even old enough to read properly."   
  
Murphy's eyes widened as he saw the brief twitch in Bellamy's eyebrows and the way Bellamy seemed to not be looking at him but beyond him, at something that Murphy couldn't see, at something that wasn't even in this room.   
  
"And his blood is on my hands. Along with the blood of three hundred  _people_ ," The last word came out croaked and uneven, and then Bellamy averted his gaze, his head bowed down as he took in a sharp breath.   
  
_Oh fuck._   
  
Murphy moved closer to him, acting on instinct rather than coherent thought, and he placed his hand on Bellamy's shoulder, fingers sliding to rest on his back between his shoulder blades, pulling him close.   
  
Then Bellamy was burying his face in the crook of Murphy's neck. A muffled, choked sob sounded against Murphy's skin, immediately causing an ache in his chest – as if there was a hand wrapped around his heart, squeezing with all its strength.   
  
"Hey—You did what you had to do," he whispered into Bellamy's hair, his other hand hesitantly going to wrap around Bellamy's waist, tightening his hold on him.   
  
"No, I  _killed_ people to save others. I had no right to make that choice; I had no right to-"   
  
"Those people were killing us," Murphy was the one to cut him off this time, his tone sounding uncharacteristically sturdy, "You do what you have to for your people to survive. You do what needs to be done to keep everyone alive. It's not easy, but you do it."   
  
Murphy didn't hesitate once throughout that sentence, because he saw absolutely no reason to. If there was one thing that no one could blame Bellamy for, not even _Bellamy_ himself, it was undeniably the events that transpired in Mount Weather.   
  
Bellamy didn't respond. He quietly sobbed again, this time his arms wrapped around Murphy, and he clung onto him as if Murphy was the raft in the ocean that kept him from drowning. His body was trembling, and Murphy's hand slid into his hair, his fingers brushing through it in what he hoped was a soothing motion.   
  
They stayed there in silence for a good while, Bellamy crying into Murphy's shoulder without making a noise, and Murphy whispering anything that he could think of to calm Bellamy down, mostly variations of 'It's okay' and 'You're okay' and 'We're all safe now.'   
  
All the anger Murphy had felt earlier seemed to evaporate into thin air, disappearing so quickly and so completely that Murphy was having trouble justifying why it was there in the first place.   
  
Bellamy had wronged him, and he had wronged Bellamy, but they were both still alive and none of that really mattered.   


"Stay," Bellamy spoke after what seemed like an eternity, his voice a barely audible whisper.   
  
"What?" 

Murphy glanced over at him, pulling back just a little to be able to look at his face. His own eyes stung with unshed tears that he hardly took notice of.   Bellamy met his gaze, _his_ eyes were bloodshot, and his eyelids were puffed up. Tears stained his cheeks on both sides of his face.    
  
Murphy knew this sight would haunt him for a very long time, and he could barely handle witnessing it. His hold on Bellamy temporarily felt wobbly.    
  
"Stay here. At Camp, with me, we can talk about everything," Bellamy sounded almost as if he was pleading, the look in his eyes so open, so distraught, "We can work it out."    
  
Bellamy's voice sounded scraped, and Murphy noted the slight bob of his Adam's apple when he swallowed back.    
  
"You mean that?"    
  
Murphy's voice sounded small, his breath catching on his own words.    
  
Bellamy nodded his head once, "I do. I want you here- I  _need_ you here. You're not nothing to me."   
  
In that particular moment, Murphy tried to recall the way he felt prior to Bellamy barging into his room, the way he had been feeling towards that boy all damn night. But all he remembered was merely an echo of what he had actually felt. And he knew there were a million reasons why staying would be a terrible idea, but none of them could hold in comparison  to the way Bellamy looked right now.   
  
And he  _was_ apparently listening last night.   
  
"Okay."   
  
It baffled him to hear the agreement come out of his own mouth, and it seemed to have baffled Bellamy even more because he was gawking at him, mouth agape.    
  
"Really?"    
  
"Yeah."   
  
Yet another word he shouldn't have been saying, but he did.    
  
"Good." Bellamy looked as though a weight has been lifted off of his shoulders, and he breathed out slowly.   
  
The two boys stood there, neither entirely sure what to do next, before Murphy stepped back and let go of Bellamy, motioning vaguely towards the bed.    
  
"Sit down; you look like you need to."    
  
Bellamy obliged him, going over to the bed and taking a seat on the edge of it. He gazed up at Murphy.    
  
He looked like a little kid then, and it was like a knife being twisted around in Murphy's heart, he truly couldn't bear seeing Bellamy like this anymore. It was driving him up the wall. Bellamy never looks like this.    
  
"I'll go get you some water," he moved towards the door, reaching to unlock it.   
  
"Don't go."   
  
Murphy side-eyed him, "I'm just going to get some water, I'm not leaving."   
  
"Just stay here," Bellamy caught his gaze, "Just for a while."    
  
There was something so extraordinarily raw about Bellamy's usually stoic voice and Murphy would have sworn that he could _feel_ those words at his very core  rather than plainly hear them.    
  
Murphy stepped away from the door and moved to sit down next to him, keeping only a couple of inches distance between them.    
  
Bellamy leaned his head against Murphy's shoulder and silence filled the room yet again, neither of the boys thinking of anything to say, and neither of them wanting to say anything in particular.    
  
Murphy had no fucking clue how it was possible to hate someone so much one minute, then want nothing more than to be there for them - _with_ them - the next. It scared him how much control Bellamy had over him, how Bellamy's words and actions had the potential to sway any of his decisions.    
  
But it scared him more to imagine living in a world where Bellamy didn't exist.   
  
Whatever the two of them had was beyond screwed up. It was a mangled mess that didn't contain a single trace of logic. He didn't know where they could go from here, what would happen, or if they could make  _anything_ at all work.    
  
But he knew that for now, Bellamy needed someone to forgive him. He knew that he didn't know how to be that person, but that he'd try  _because_ it's what Bellamy needs.    
  
He also knew that he did have one thing in this place: Bellamy, who is  _all_  Murphy has. And as fucked up as _that_ was, it was true.     
  
When they first got to the ground, Bellamy had been the one to give him the only thing in his life that he believed was really worth fighting for. And he realized he wasn't willing to give up on that.   
  
Not today.   



End file.
